


Eyas

by DragonsPhoenix



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to Potentials who don't get Called?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Definitions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at Taming the Muse: eyas - a fledgling taken from the nest for training.
> 
> I decided that 1) the Council would have names for different types of Potentials (not found, in training, and so forth) and 2) that the Council would call a Potential who had been removed from her family for training an Eyas.
> 
> 23 April 2017: more definitions that I'm storing here so I'll know where to find them if I want them
> 
>   * Preceptor - Watcher training a Potential 
>   * Falconer - more historical, the term has been replaced by Field Watcher. A Falconer trains the current Slayer. The term suggests the unleashing and guiding of an only partly domesticated creature 
>   * Academic - a Watcher concerned with scholarly pursuits, not one entrusted with the training of a Potential or Slayer 
> 


_Potential_ – a girl or young woman who has the inherent ability to become a Slayer.  
 _Lorn_ – an unidentified Potential.  
 _Eyas_ – a Potential under the tutelage of a Watcher.  
 _Defunct_ – a Potential who is past the age when she might be Called.  
\- From Field Work 101, Watcher's Lecture Series


	2. Newsworthy

Mr. Evans' death, it seems, is the only thing more disturbing than his occupation. Head librarian in charge of the Millay collection at the University of Oxford, Henry Evans worked daily with texts relating to the mythology of fairies, gods, and demons, which makes it even more disturbing that his death should have such a fanciful component. His body was found drained of blood, much like the victim of a vampire attack, except in this case it was a dialysis machine deliberately hooked-up incorrectly. It is believed Henry Evans was alive at the time of exsanguination.  
\- From the blog of Syliva Bell

As unlikely as it sounds, the bullfighter was torn to shreds as if by the claws of some beast although how an animal of that size made its way into the city of Madrid is unknown.  
\- From the Madrid Mirror's obituary of bullfighter Roberto delToro

Margaret Grimes, the cleaning lady who found the body, insists that she had not removed any of the blood or skin. Police officials have not confirmed if the crime scene had been disturbed in any way before officers arrived.  
\- From Daily Planet's obituary of Wall Street businessman J. Harrington Stevens

What the police aren't telling us is that they've found the same card at each crime scene. The card shows a stylized image of a bird and contains one word: Eyas. In falconry, eyas refers to a young falcon taken from the nest for training. That eyas in these instance could refer to a youth being trained as a serial killer is an unavoidable conclusion. What dark and desperate future does this ominous portent foretell?  
\- From Dark Shadow's blog; entry deleted by Interpol


	3. Appointment

Watchers in the field tended to elevate their importance. Even those who trained Eyas seemed to believe they should have instant access to Quentin Travers. Mrs. Gavriel-Kay's position had been established in order to keep field Watchers out of the Council Head's office and she performed it well. No field Watcher had invaded Travers' office since he'd taken over and so it was all the more surprising when she told him of Thomas Clarke's appointment. 

“He must have called in every favor he had.”

“Sir.”

Quentin glanced up from his datebook. “And perhaps bribed my assistant.”

“Never, sir.”

“You think I should see him.”

“That isn't for me to say, sir.” But she nodded.

“Alright, add him to my schedule.”


	4. Funding

“Send him in.” Quentin stabbed at the button that disconnected the intercom and waited, at the far end of the room, for Thomas Clarke to walk past the leather chairs gathered around the fireplace and across the Council's Seal laid out as a rug and to come still standing before Quentin's desk. 

“When I agreed to take on an Eyas, it was with the understanding that my research would be funded once her training was completed.” In popular culture, the ectomorphic frame identified the pure scholar. Clarke did not give lie to this stereotype. Unfortunately his scholarly bent turned more toward chemistry than demonology. 

“Priorities have shifted in the intervening years,” Quentin replied. “The Board decided the funds could be better used elsewhere.”

“Because an efficient means of destroying demons lies outside our purview?” 

“We train the Slayer. She kills demons.”

“I've spent the last twelve years of my life training an Eyas. As I understand it, our job is to make the Slayer a more efficient killer.”

“Within traditional limits.” Quentin vented his frustration into thinking about the word he'd be having with Mrs. Gavriel-Kay after Clarke left. Clarke should never have gotten past her if all he had was these vague discontents.

“Who defines those limits? Why is a sword better than sulfur?”

“The Board decides and the Board has spoken.”

Clarke spoke slowly. “I see.”

“If that is all.”

“That's not all.”

Quentin's gaze snapped up. Clarke had been dismissed. Clarke's passion for chemistry may have addled his priorities, but Clarke did understand the nuances. 

Clarke spread newspaper clippings across Quentin's desk. “I received these from my Defunct.”

When Quentin spoke, the temperature in the room dropped by two degrees. “Traditionally we disregard Potentials once they are no longer useful.”

One of the articles caught his eye. It described a murder, the dramatic murder of a man who had worked for the Council. Quentin had been receiving weekly updates on the investigation. There were no leads. “What is this?”

“I believe my Defunt has taken up a new career: assassin.”

Quentin looked through the articles. Each death had the appearance of a demon attack although the first attack, the one on Mr. Evans, revealed the trick of how that had been done. Still, other than the brutality and the drama of the attacks, nothing tied them together. “I see no reason to believe your Defunct was involved in any of these.”

Clarke tossed a card onto the table. It showed a stylized bird in flight and one word: Eyas. “After each murder an article would appear, along with one of these cards.”

“Appear?”

“On my desk.”

“I see.” Quentin stared at the card. “I appreciate the discretion you've shown by bringing this directly to my attention. There are special funds that don't require the Board's approval. I will ensure that your research if fully funded. I'll need you to contact her. Tell her I want a meeting.”


	5. Eyas

When Quentin woke, he found a message, and a card, on his nightstand. His home was guarded by Council personnel and protected by wards Quentin had raised himself, and yet the girl had gotten through without raising an alarm. Ah, good. She wasn't running. She might do after all.

Her message, though, that was as dramatic as her kills. Be at the Speaker's Corner by 10:00 AM and wait for instructions. Good Lord! He could only hope the child would be as promising as she appeared.

The usual generic lunatic, harping on about the genius of the average man, had drawn the usual crowd of tourists. The lunatic's voice grew in volume. “And everything will be okay if Quentin Travers does as he's told and gets into the black cab just past the Marble Arch.” As Quentin stepped through the arch, a black cab pulled up. The driver, definitely Clarke's Defunt based on a photo he'd been shown, didn't ask where he wanted to go. Quentin sat back, giving every evidence of enjoying the ride as he waited for her to speak. 

“I wasn't sure you'd come.”

Quentin thought of the message left by his bedside. “With such a flamboyant invitation, how could I not?”

“I thought it might have inspired you to send, ah, your associates.”

She was afraid. Well, that was natural enough. Clarke wouldn't have explicitly told her how brutal the Council could be. He was a subtle man and he'd raised her. She would have picked up his subtlety. She, most definitely, could see below the surface. “They would be superfluous in this situation.” At least for the moment.

She relaxed at his words.

“I'd appreciate it if you found a place to park.”

And there went the tension, straight back into her shoulders. But she did pull over. She knew who held the cards.

He handed her an envelope and watched as she pulled out a photograph and personal information. Victor Davis. The document provided didn't list him as a member of the Council's Board. Quentin knew she'd work that out on her own as she made her arrangements. 

“I believe you do. You're a contractor. Your fees are reasonable. The Council is willing to hire you.” He watched her take that in. He didn't have to tell her this was a test. Fail and, well, his associates would make a call after all. Succeed and they could well do business again. “There is a caveat.”

“A caveat.”

“A set of them. He must be found hanging, near water, with one leg unbent and the other crossed over so that the bottom of the bent leg is perpendicular to the straight leg.” He knew she'd connect the image to the Hanged Man in the Tarot. The description should be enough.

“And my fee?”

“Half has already been transferred to your account.”

Sweat broke out on her brow as she realized he knew her fees, her account numbers. Good. She wouldn't underestimate the power of the Council again.


	6. Hanged Man

Technically she had met his requirements. The body had been found hanged but by the ankle rather than by the neck. The death had been due to drowning rather than hanging. She was quite ingenious. She'd taken the Hanged Man imagery more literally than he'd intended. Davis' legs had been displayed as Quentin had directed, one crossed over the other, and his hands had been tied behind his back. 

The body had been found in Brighton of all places, hanging from the skeleton of the pier holding up the remains of the burnt out ballroom. Fire and water. Nicely done, that. It was more subtle than he'd expected, but a bold move to drown the man in such a public location. She'd cut out his tongue so his screams wouldn't be heard. There'd also been a fire out on the beach, a party, loud with that racket the kids liked to listen to. She'd arranged that as well. The kids, those interviewed, had called it Eyas Fest. The police had no leads either for the death or for Eyas Fest.

A journalist had been sent a video. The police had suppressed it almost immediately but Quentin's men had brought him a copy. She'd hung the body at low tied, head down. As the tide came in, the water level rose. Davis'd had hours to contemplate his death as he watched the sea level rise by the light of the full moon. Those members of the Board who had been fighting Quentin, well, he'd arranged for them to get a look at the video. 

The girl would do. The girl would do quite well.


End file.
